“What are you waiting for?” “Something more.” It’s hard to focus when he touches me. With a stroke of his fingernail along the waistband of my jeans, I shiver. “Haven’t I told you enough already?” I ask, too close to resorting to begging for him to slide his hand inside my underwear and feel the mess I’ve made because of him. “Not even close.” “Touch me and I’ll tell you more.” He pulls back, and our eyes meet again. I’ve never seen his so dark as they flick between mine, searching for the truth in the words I spoke.
